


Counting Stars

by writellings



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Crying, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, M/M, Schmoop, Shotgunning, Smoking, Star Gazing, hajime comforting tooru, iwaoi - Freeform, oiiwa - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-07
Updated: 2015-10-07
Packaged: 2018-04-25 07:52:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4952407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writellings/pseuds/writellings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Do you often cry, Tooru?” Hajime asks. He never calls Oikawa by his first name, even though they’ve known each other their whole lives. It never felt right on his tongue; too personal, too intimate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Counting Stars

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by a talk I had with a friend thw other day. Hope you like it :)7
> 
> EDIT: [hajimeiwaiizumi](http://hajimeiwaiizumi.tumblr.com) made this amazing [fanart](http://hajimeiwaiizumi.tumblr.com/post/130825511749/because-this-fic) for this fic!!!!

* * *

****

Hajime is draped over the sofa in Tooru’s room. His feet are dangling off the edge and his arms is tucked under his head. Tooru is laying face down on his bed, head pushed between the pillows. He mumbles something incoherent every now and then, but Hajime doesn’t catch it, and Tooru makes no effort to lift his head. They sit in silence for a long while, content to just be.

“Iwa-chan?” Tooru is sitting up now, his face is squished and red and there’s an imprint from the pillow on his cheek.

“Hm,” Hajime hums, because his face is resting on his hand and he has no will to open his eyes. But Tooru doesn’t say anything else, so he looks up.  Tooru is sitting cross-legged at the foot of the bed, looking up at Hajime expectantly. “What is it?” Hajime asks.

“Do you… do you think…? – Do you like me, Iwa-chan?” Tooru isn’t looking at him anymore; his eyes fell somewhere along the words and Hajime can no longer see his face clearly, only the shadow cast over it by his hair.

“What are you talking about?” he asks. Tooru is chewing on his lip and Hajime wants to tell him to stop before he tears the skin. It’s an old habit he never managed to kick. “Oikawa what’s wrong?”

“I feel…” it sounds like his voice is cracking, and it’s wet and heavy with something that Hajime can’t place. “I feel like nobody cares about me.”

“Of course people care about you, Shittikawa,” Hajime rolls his eyes after a slight pause – Tooru is being dramatic again and he just doesn’t want to deal with that right now. “They love you.”

“They?” Tooru lifts his head to look at Hajime. Thick tears have gathered at the edges of his eyes and they’re slowly falling over, one by one. “So not you?”

Hajime stares. He doesn’t know what to say because he never saw Oikawa cry – not since they were kids, anyway. “Of course it’s me, too,” he say, looks away because he doesn’t want to watch Oikawa’s tears staining his cheeks. “Where’s this coming from anyway? You never talk like this.”

Oikawa looks at him and somehow his eyes are different; deeper, more vulnerable. “Doesn’t mean I don’t feel like it,” he mumbles.

Hajime thinks back to all the flashy smiles that Tooru so easily gives away. He thinks about the glim and the drop in his eyes when they lose a match. He thinks about how Tooru always laughs, and how sometimes it’s just a little too loud and lasts just a little too long.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks. His tone is accusatory and angry and betrayed, and he doesn’t care.

“I…” Oikawa is avoiding his eyes again. “I didn’t think it was a big deal. And I was scared you wouldn’t care about it.”

“Of course I care!” Hajime’s feet are planted on the floor and his hands are balled into fists in his lap. “God, you’re such a dumbass. How could you think I wouldn’t care about you? We’re _best friends!_ ”

Tooru is crying again; his tears are big and probably hot and his nose is running.

“Come on, don’t cry,” Hajime says. His voice is softer, even though his hands are still shaking with anger.

“I’m sorry, Iwa-chan,” Tooru hiccups in between sobs, “I didn’t mean to shut you out. I’m sorry.”

Hajime looks at him, sees his tears fall so freely and something inside him breaks a little. “Do you often cry, Tooru?” Hajime asks. He never calls Oikawa by his first name, even though they’ve known each other their whole lives. It never felt right on his tongue; too personal, too intimate.

“I do,” Oikawa says after a beat. The comfortable silence from just moments ago is replaced by the ear-wrenching, suffocating stillness that falls on them now.

“Well don’t,” Hajime’s voice is rough – rougher than he intended it to be – and his look is stern and determined.

“I c-can’t just decide something like that,” Tooru protests weakly.

“I know,” Hajime sighs. “That’s why I’m deciding it for you. You won’t cry anymore because you’re going to come to _me_ and I’ll knock some sense into you.”

“Iwa-chan…” Tooru sighs.

 His smile is tiny, but sincere and so, so very brief. He stands up, new tears already filling his eyes and slipping down, and he runs to the sofa. His weight settles against Hajime’s legs and his arms capture his neck, and he cries into Hajime’s shirt. They hold each other for a long time – maybe a moment too long, even – and then they linger, and then they’re apart and there’s a cold emptiness where Tooru’s head was resting on Hajime’s shoulder. Tooru is still sitting on Hajime’s lap and the weight against his legs is a comforting presence.

“We need to go to the roof,” he says. He’s standing up, pulling Tooru with him and dragging him toward the door. “Now.”

 

* * *

 

The building Tooru lives in is thirteen floors high, and Hajime thinks it’s equivalent to a skyscraper. That roof top was his favorite place when he was little and all throughout middle school. He and Tooru would climb up all those flights of stairs – they never used the elevator because Hajime had always been afraid of small spaces and _hated_ the nauseating feeling from being pulled up without actually moving. They would come and just stand there for a while. Sometimes they would bring blankets and settle on the ground with them, gazing up at the moon and stars. Tooru loved to imagine what it would be like to go to outer space, and he talked about it for hours on end.

Today they use the elevator for the first time because walking up nine stories from the fourth floor is bad for Tooru’s knee.

They bring two blankets and a pillow, a carton of orange juice that Tooru took from the fridge and a pack of cigarettes. “Remember how we used to count the stars every night?” Hajime asks. He looks over at Tooru and a weird, nostalgic-like feeling settles in his throat.

Oikawa nods. “Yeah. I’d come to sleep over and we would sit on your window for hours. You always lost track of the count after a while,” he looks over and smiles.

Hajime pulls out one of the cigarettes and lights it, holding his hand in front of the fire. He doesn’t smoke, not usually, only when his nerves get the best of him before a particularly challenging test or when Oikawa makes him anxious. He would never admit it, though, because the coach would have his head for it.

“Smoking is bad for you, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says, not really looking at him. His gaze is fixed on the night sky, on the three or four stars that linger beside the moon.

Hajime scoffs before taking in another drag. “You only say that cause you’ve never tried it,” he puffs out the words along with smoke. He crosses his legs in front of him and ticks the cigarette with his finger; the ashes look dim in the dark and they quickly go cold against the ground before the wind blows them away. He takes another drag and Oikawa watches him.

“So let me try it,” he says, almost too quietly for Hajime to hear.

“What? No! Your knee’s already fucked, I don’t wanna damage you any more than necessary,” he says, hoping to end the conversation. Part of him regrets lighting the cigarette in front of Oikawa in the first place.

“Teach me how to smoke, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa whines. His voice is pouty and Hajime doesn’t want to look at him because he knows that his face is pouty too. Oikawa taps him on the shoulder, pokes him with a finger, and nudges his knee.

“Ugh, _fine,_ ” Hajime sighs. Oikawa perks up beside him. “You won’t like it,” he warns. “And you have to promise me you won’t take it up.”

Oikawa puts a hand on his chest. “So dramatic, Iwa-chan. I promise.”

They move to face each other. Hajime looks between Tooru and the cigarette in his hand, considering. “Come here,” he instructs, maybe a little bit nervously. “I’m gonna take a drag and blow the smoke into your mouth.”

Oikawa comes dangerously close and leans in, nodding his head in understanding. Hajime sighs. He doesn’t want to do this, not really, but it’s better than letting Oikawa have his own cigarette. He takes a deep drag, inhaling the smoke and savoring it in his mouth for a moment before leaning in and opening his mouth against Oikawa’s. The smoke leaves his mouth and Oikawa sucks it in – their lips are almost touching and their noses are brushing together.

Oikawa coughs a little, but he seems pretty pleased with himself. Hajime raises a brow at him. “Another?”

Oikawa nods. “Yeah.”

Hajime takes another drag and leans in again and open his mouth to exhale again. This time, their lips brush together a bit and Tooru grips Hajime’s arms for support. They pull apart before Hajime can give in to the temptation to inch his tongue against Tooru’s lip.

“Another?” Hajime hears his words echo, only this time it’s Tooru’s voice.

He’s already leaning in, impatiently, and Hajime only barely has enough time to inhale before Tooru’s mouth is against his own. He feels the smoke leave his mouth in a whirl, feels the hotness of Tooru’s breath against his lips. Tooru inhales quickly and holds his eyes closed for a moment. He puffs the smoke out, lingering above Hajme’s face, and it tickles his skin; he wants to draw it in, wants to feel Tooru’s breath inside his mouth. He opens his eyes, half expecting to see Tooru a foot away and coughing, but he’s still looking at Hajime with something dark and indescribable behind his eyes. Tooru smiles and closes his eyes – closes the distance between them.

His lips are soft and chapped and delicious; he tastes like Hajime’s cigarettes. Hajime licks Tooru’s lower lip with the tip of his tongue. Tooru’s hands are firmly planted on Hajime’s upper arm, holding him steady. He keeps leaning in, keeps getting closer until he’s sitting in Hajime’s lap for the second time that night. Hajime unfolds his legs from underneath himself so Tooru can fall into the space between them. The response he gets – the low, grateful moan from deep within Tooru’s throat and his hands moving to Hajime’s shoulders – very nearly takes his breath away.

Tooru’s hands seem to wander tirelessly – they go from Hajime’s arms to his shoulders, to his neck and hair. Oikawa cups his face, lifting his chin up to deepen the kiss. Hajime’s lips feel bruised and swollen, but he doesn’t want to stop, not when Oikawa’s tongue is licking at his mouth so deliciously.

Tooru is the first to pull away, flushed and gasping for breath. Hajime’s saliva is glistening on his lips.

“Well,” Hajime begins, unsure of what to say.

“I like you, Iwa-chan,” Tooru breaths against his shoulder, tucking his head into the crook of Hajime’s neck.

 Hajime feels his face heat up and he wonders if Tooru can feel it as well. Tooru’s head is pressing into Hajime’s shoulder and he’s becoming too heavy to ignore, but Hajime doesn’t care. He hums contentedly and whispers into Oikawa’s ear. “I like you, too.”

He doesn’t know if it’s Tooru’s smile or his own that he feels on his face. Tooru nuzzles his cheek against Hajime’s – it’s hot from his blush and cold from the late night wind. Hajime feels his heart, loudly, beating away in his ears.

“Does this mean you care about me, Iwa-chan?” Tooru looks up, then, his eyes are bright and glistening in the dark around them.

Haijime presses his hands into the small of Tooru’s back. “I already told you I do, Shittikawa,” he says, quietly, into Tooru’s neck.

Tooru smiles and pushes himself closer to Hajime, like he’s trying to melt into him. “Iwa-chan,” he whispers against Hajime’s skin. “I wish – I wish you would kiss me again.”

Hajime’s cigarette has long been put out and discarded, and he wishes he could light another one, just to feel Tooru’s breath against his own again. He captures Tooru’s lips, rougher than before, and they stay that way for a moment before Tooru opens his mouth, tongue pushing past Hajime’s lips. It feels natural, practiced, like they’ve been doing this for years. Tooru’s lips fit so perfectly on Hajime’s, even though their teeth are clicking together and there are messy gasps coming from their throats.

Tooru gasps against Hajime’s open mouth; his breath is hot and wet on Hajime’s skin. He traces his tongue along Tooru’s lips; along all the little wounds Tooru bit into the skin there. Tooru pushes their hips together, grasping Hajime’s shoulders one more time. Hajime echoes Tooru’s moans as their lips meet again, and again.

 “Iwa-chan,” Tooru breathes. “We should stop.”

“Why?” Hajime is kissing down Tooru’s jawline, leaving a wet trail with his tongue, marking him with his teeth. He feels Tooru’s throat vibrate as he laughs.

“ _Iwa-chan,_ ” Tooru is pushing him away, gently, but Hajime still doesn’t want to let go. “We should really stop, I’m getting worked up.”

“I want you worked up,” Hajime pulls him closer, trying to claim his lips again, but Tooru is still at arm’s length from him, and it _hurts._

“Iwa-chan!” Tooru’s gasp is falsely scandalous, but his grin is bright and happy and playful. He pecks Hajime on the cheek. “Seriously, it’s getting cold out here. We should head back.”

“I guess,” Hajime grumbles. His feet feel heavy and numb from Tooru’s weight on them. He drags himself up, pulling Tooru with him; he’s lighter than Hajime, despite being taller.

They pick up the blankets and Hajime puts the pack of cigarettes back in his pocket. He wants to take Tooru’s hand, wants to hold him closer; wants to _be_ closer. Tooru looks at him:

“Hey, Iwa-chan,” he says, taking Hajime’s hand.  Tooru’s palm is warm despite being exposed to the cold air for so long. “Thank you.”

Maybe his words are deeper than he lets on and maybe his eyes are a little lighter than they were before, and maybe –

Maybe Hajime isn’t afraid to fall in love with him.

**Author's Note:**

> cudos and comments are always appreciated ♥


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